ow_maelstromfandomcom-20200215-history
Deathly Still
= Deathly Still = Posted by : White_Caribou on Mar 21, 2018, 2:01am - August 19th, Corbet Estate, Highholm, Morning - The halls were cold. The rooms veiled in darkness as if the Maelstrom had crept through the walls, even in what daylight was present. Some officers had taken the body to wherever it was they wanted, at this point Stella didn't care what they did so long as the story held. He'd lost hos balance in the smaller quake, hitting his head on the nightstand. The wife had rushed toward the sound only to fall as well, hitting her head on the way down. She could barely reach the room while crawling before it all went dark. That was the story. And they believed it as far as Stella knew. The truth would be questionable with the city's views so using the best of her emotions was a mandatory task that seemed quite successful. The mail boy, who delivered the town paper twice a week, found it strange that the front door had been left open a crack which Stella didn't notice upon entering. Being a loyal friend to the family he made his way into the house to search for intruders but found a broken woman curled against the wall and a dead man. She told the boy to find an officer and he did so after aiding to her wounds with their medical kit and fetching her a robe. That dreadful night had poisoned her, ironically curing her of the pain inflicted upon her by the victim. But now, she wasn't a person anymore; she was a mourning widow. The only mourning that would be done would be looking outside as dusk rises. The joyous weeping that would take place at his funeral (should that come about) would be masked with sorrow and pain that she'd been rid of. Oh but now you're suffering against yourself. You truly are as stupid as he thought. So many tears had been shed for the simple sin of taking another life, although, she'd had enough of his temper. Stella now sat in the corner of the living room with dried streaks of makeup below her puffy eyes, hair was ruffled and unkempt from a night of sleepless torment. Three stacked scratches lined her cheeks and the scrape on her head had been cleaned thanks to the boy. The headache was still very present and caused her to wince. The entire house felt... dead. Was murder always like this, or was she supposed to enjoy her freedom and loneliness? What she was feeling certainly wasn't that. Everything had a gloomy overcast in the eyes of the murderer seated so calmly in that chair wearing nothing but a small silk robe. She felt almost as lifeless as the corpse. Still, part of the spark was in her eyes, dormant but there. Behind all the teary clouds, of course. Her nails dug into the leather armchair at the sound of a knock. "It's open," Stella quickly recovered with a hoarse voice. There was no point in locking it when the whole city would soon know your business. Near to no privacy in Highholm.